


A 'Lord', A Lady, And Their Lovers

by camichats



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Cultural Differences, Eavesdropping, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 09:21:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19002913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camichats/pseuds/camichats
Summary: Jon and Sansa are strangers, now forced in an arranged marriage. Jon's in love with someone he couldn't marry even though he wanted to, and Sansa found herself falling for her best friend before she was married off.Aka Jon and Tormund are together and Jon getting married is fucking with their relationship. In an effort to fix that, Sansa and Margaery lie about being together so that Jon and Tormund can be happy.





	A 'Lord', A Lady, And Their Lovers

**Author's Note:**

> Both pairings are featured fyi. It's Sansa's POV, so do with that what you will

 Sansa read the message that the raven had delivered from her family. Read it again, reread it, then stared in disbelief.

"What did the letter say?" Margaery asked, blowing into the room with a faint smile on her face. She caught sight of Sansa's expression, and her smile faded away. "Troubling news?"

"They're asking me to come home," she said, flattening the scroll against the tabletop.

"For a visit? That will be nice, it's been a while since you've seen your brothers and sisters." The Stark parents had dropped by King's Landing for a time, and House Tyrell made a visit to the capital as well. A few weeks together to catch up had been nice, but Margaery had thought that Sansa would welcome a longer visit, especially back to the north she missed so dearly. "Shouldn't you be happy about this?"

"I'm going back for a wedding."

"Well weddings are happy occasions, I'm sure you'll have fun even if you don't like the wedding party themselves."

"It's mine."

Margaery pulled up short. "What? You're getting married? To whom?"

"Jon Snow, the ruler of the Wall and beyond." She smoothed out the scroll a little bit more. "Apparently there are certain things he's unwilling to divulge, information my family thinks is necessary."

"And he's agreed to tell if you marry him?"

"It doesn't say."

"Perhaps you should ask, just so you are not married off unnecessarily. We wouldn't want it to go to waste, after all."

"I suppose there's no harm in my asking," Sansa agreed, though she didn't think it would do any good. She got her feet and reached for a clean scroll. "I always thought I'd marry into your family," she admitted. "Loras has been nothing but kind to me, and I wouldn't prevent him from continuing his personal relations the way he has been."

"I thought you'd marry him too. You'd make a lovely Lady of Highgarden. Sansa Tyrell has such a nice ring to it, I've always thought."

Sansa nodded. "I suppose instead, I will be Sansa Snow."

"There's no guarantee they'll go through with it. I can't tell you how many times I've been told I'm to marry, only for the wedding to never follow through."

"No offense Margaery, but my mother wouldn't tell me of this unless she was certain. I'll ask for a first meeting, maybe see if Lord Snow can be persuaded to wait on the ceremony, but," Sansa sighed, "I don't think it'll do me any good. I don't get formal invitations to return north if there's still negotiating to be done."

Margaery was quiet for a minute, then she pulled up a smile and looped her arm through Sansa's, steering her out of the room. "Let's go for a walk. See the gardens again before you leave."

"The letter-"

"Can wait. If you think it won't do any good, then it won't. You should still write it, I think, but it can wait a few hours."

Sansa looked at Margaery, the curve of her cheek and the way she wasn't afraid to show skin. Once married, they probably wouldn't see each other again. They might not even see each other for that long if Margaery wasn't invited to the wedding. "It can wait," she agreed.

* * *

Sansa sent a raven like she planned, and, predictably, the reply was that she didn't really have a choice in the matter and they'd see her soon. However, Margaery was invited to the wedding and she accepted, so at least Sansa wouldn't lose her best friend right away. She'd still lose Margaery of course, because it's not like she could stay that far north when she was a lady of a great house, but it would be nice while it lasted.

Their little convoy left Highgarden, Sansa and Margaery riding side by side on their horses for the start of the journey. "You brought warmer clothes with you, right?" Sansa asked. As of right now, Margaery was wearing one of her usual dresses, which is to say it was sleeveless, low cut and had parts of her midriff showing, not to mention it was a flowing fabric that breathed in the heat.

"Some."

"Margaery," Sansa chastised. "I don't care how beautiful it makes you look, you'd freeze to death. Exactly how far north have you been before?"

"King's Landing."

"You've not been any further?"

"There was no reason for me travel further."

Sansa shook her head, smiling. "You don't even own a coat. We'll have to buy you one on the way up."

"I could use one of your's."

"You could, if you were only staying for the wedding. Since you're going to be with me for a few weeks, you will definitely need your own."

"You have at least three," Margaery argued, raising one of her eyebrows. "Do you really need that third one at all times? Surely you could stand to lose it, if only for the few weeks where I'm visiting."

"Fine," Sansa said, grinning, "you can borrow one of my coats, but you _will_ need thicker dresses. Coat or not, you'll be shivering out of your skin if you wear something like that."

Margaery heaved a put-upon sigh. "I suppose I can't borrow your's for that. Very well, I'll buy dresses meant for the north if it will make you happy."

* * *

Margaery in northern dresses was a _mistake_ , but there was nothing Sansa could do about that. After a while, Sansa had gotten used to Margaery showing as much skin as she did, so much accent on her chest and bottom that she had grown accustomed to averting her eyes. Now though, Margaery was in something thick and covering, and Sansa found her just as attractive as she always did. Maybe more so because it now looked like she belonged in the north, in Sansa's home.

They arrived in Winterfell at noon, and Sansa felt like a little girl when she saw her family lined up to welcome her back. "Want to meet my family?" Sansa asked Margaery, who smiled back sunnily.

"Of course!"

They both dismounted, and they walked arm in arm to greet them, Sansa pulling Margaery along with a laugh.

"Mum, Robb, this is Margaery Tyrell, a Lady of Highgarden and my best friend. Margaery, this is my family." She let go of her and stepped forward to hug her mother, then pointed at the various family members as she introduced them. "This is my mum, Lady Stark, my brother Robb, my sister Arya, and my brothers Bran and Rickon."

"Hello," she said, waving to the younger siblings. Then she turned and curtsied to Catelyn and Robb. "Lady Stark, my lord. Thank you for your hospitality, in housing me and my people."

"It was no trouble, Lady Tyrell," Robb said. "Any friend of Sansa's is welcome in our home."

"And Lord Snow? Is he happy to be hosting a wedding so large? I've heard that north of the Wall they are rather private."

"He's assured us that there will be no trouble," Catelyn said. "This is not only a wedding, but an alliance between our lands, so we've made sure that everything is in order and everyone is happy."

Margaery inclined her head as if she agreed, but Sansa knew that she disapproved of Sansa's lack of control in this situation.

Everything was very nice and very proper as far as Sansa was concerned. Things were a bit different than in the South, so Margaery had a little bit to get used to. Not quite as many minced words and cutting insults described as compliments, but maybe that was because up here they were all Starks. In the capital, it had been dozens of lords and ladies, from great houses and lesser houses, and some people who were just rich trying to buy themselves a title, all of them trying to curry favour by proving they were the most clever and most well deserving of it. There was no competition to contend with here, just the Starks and the families loyal to them.

So yes, things were nice and proper in Winterfell, a few changes from down south but ultimately the same. The Wall was _not_. They arrived, and instead of a formal welcoming-- or even an informal one-- there was nothing. Oh there were people out and about, but it was clear that no one was there specifically for their arrival.

Catelyn was openly frowning because as the matron of the Stark family, she was allowed to show her displeasure at what were seen as personal slights to their family. A lord not caring to greet the arrival of his wife was definitely a slight, and not a promising one. Someone finally stopped and looked at them. He was a thin man with prominent bone structure, and he didn't hold himself with the straight back that indicated nobles or other people that expected to be listened to.

"Who are you?" he asked. Not rudely, but not going out of his way to be nice, either.

"The Stark's," Robb answered. "Lord Snow knew to expect us."

"You're the Stark's?" he repeated. "I thought you weren't coming for another week."

"The wedding's in a week, but there's a lot to get ready for."

"How big are southern weddings?" he asked, clearly not understanding why they would feel the need to be there a week before the scheduled day.

"We're not Southern."

The man shrugged. "South of the Wall is South. Oi, Grenn!" he called to someone that had started to walk by.

Grenn was a bit bigger, both in height and broadness, and he came over at his name being called. "What?"

The man gestured at them. "Stark's are here. What do we do?"

"'We'? You're the one that found them, why don't you deal with it?"

"It's not my job to take care of it. Where the fuck is Sam?"

"He's with Little Sam in the library," a pregnant woman passing by said, stopping to join the group that was now forming. "And stop using that language, I don't want my boy cursing before he can even ride a horse. What're you worrying about?" she asked, looking around, then freezing when she saw all of them in their line and on horses. "Oh. Fancy ladies. Hello!" She did her best to give a curtsy, but it was clear she didn't know what she was doing. Sansa was well aware that curtsies didn't mean anything, but her opinion of this place was rapidly dropping from neutral to 'never want to live here in my entire life'. Beside her, Margaery seemed to be thinking the same thing, but it was only because Sansa had known her for so long that she could tell. "I thought they weren't coming for another week," she said to the group, but her voice carried easily.

"Apparently there has been some sort of miscommunication on that," Catelyn said diplomatically, now that it was clear this was a misunderstanding and not something done on purpose. "We hope it's no imposition, but it would be best if we could speak with Lord Snow."

The group exchanged glances. "Erm," the woman said, "I'll go get Sam." She hurried off, leaving the two men looking supremely uncomfortable.

"She'll be just a moment," the thin one that wasn't Grenn said. Grenn elbowed him and made a gesture like he should say something else, so he added, "Sorry about all this. We don't get visitors often. Or- ever, really. Sam's the maester here, he actually knows how to talk."

"We know how to talk," Grenn said, mostly to his friend.

"Yeah but we don't bloody know how to talk to the fancy folk now do we? Either you talk to them or shut up."

Needless to say it was an awkward few minutes as Sam was retrieved. The first thing Sansa noticed about him upon his arrival was how happy he seemed. The second was that he was indeed a maester, the chain hanging on his neck long and proud. _Finally_ , she thought a touch desperately, _something that makes sense_.

"Hello," he said, voice soft and non-confrontational, a contrast to the people before him. "Gilly tells me that you're the Stark procession?"

"We are," Robb said. "Apparently there has been some confusion about our arrival. My apologies, we would have been more clear in our letters had we known."

"Oh it's," Sam shrugged it off. "Jon's always a bit scattered, you might have been very plain and he just didn't notice. I'm afraid he's not here at the moment, and likely won't be until tomorrow with the way their trips usually go. You are of course welcome to stay as you planned, we'll get everything set up. If you wouldn't mind- urm- this way?" he asked, motioning towards a well beaten path.

Sansa sighed. This was the start of a very long, very unfulfilling life; she could feel it.

"Maybe it won't be that bad," Margaery said in an undertone so that only Sansa could hear her.

"I wouldn't count on it."

"Did you know that when you get sad, you're suddenly a pessimist?"

"Not so suddenly," Sansa mumbled, and Margaery pushed at her shoulder playfully.

"Sansa, you little liar. Why, I'm almost ashamed to know you."

"Are you," Sansa said, begrudgingly amused.

"Yes," she sniffed, "I am."

* * *

First impressions weren't _everything_ , but they were rather important. It was startlingly clear, when Lord Snow arrived back home, that he had no idea he would be making one. As such, he was lax and comfortable like everyone there was someone he'd known and been friends with for years. Which, given the general air of the people at the Wall, was true for them. They were sitting in the main hall, dining for midday meal, when the doors suddenly opened and in walked two men. One of them had dark hair, pale skin, and an all-around beautiful face. The other was a giant of a man, red hair and bushy beard making him seem a bit wild.

Those were the first things Sansa noticed when she looked up. The second thing she noticed was that they were both wet even though there was no rain outside.

"Jon why the fuck are you wet?" someone asked. Sansa had recently learned his name, oh what was it- Pyp! His name was Pyp.

"Tormund pushed me in the river," the pretty man said.

"You said it looked nice."

"I said it looked cold," he argued, glaring playfully up at him.

Wait, did Pyp say Jon? As in Jon Snow, the lord she was expected to marry?

"Why's Tormund wet?" Edd asked.

"The cunt pulled me in with him." That must be Tormund then, the large wild looking one.

Down the table of the Stark's was Sam and his wife Gilly. They were the ones that mostly dealt with the Stark's since they were pretty much the only ones that knew how to perform politeness in a way the family was used to. At the conversation happening in front of them, Sam had his head in his hands. He stood up and cleared his throat delicately. "Jon?"

Jon looked over at him automatically, then his eyes flashed over the Stark family. A small frown creased across his face as he flitted his gaze back to Sam. "Yeah?"

"The Stark family arrived a week before the wedding to begin preparations." He gave a little smile and gestured at their group. "We would have sent you a raven about it but um, you were due to arrive shortly."

"Right. That- er, makes sense." He inclined his head towards Robb. "Lord Stark. Sorry about erm," he glanced down at his wet and distinctly unprofessional appearance, "everything. I'd say that I normally make a better impression, but I don't fancy lying to you."

Beside him, Tormund snorted and pat him on the shoulder. "You keep talking pretty, I'm gonna dry off before the fur freezes to me. You want to be stuck in that, that's your problem little crow." He left, and Jon turned halfway to watch him go. It was only when he was out of the doors and therefore couldn't be seen anymore, that Jon turned back to the high table-- not that it took all that long.

"I was thinking, Lord Snow, that we could talk after lunch and you've had a chance to get comfortable again," Robb said.

Jon made a face when Robb said 'Lord Snow', but he nodded at the suggestion/out Lord Stark was giving him. "That would be good. Do me a favour though, and never call me 'Lord Snow' again; Jon's fine." He inclined his head again, then left.

Sam sat back down. "I suppose I should have warned you that Jon's not much for the formalities. No one here is, but I think you already figured that out for yourselves. More tea?"

"Yes, Maester, thank you," Margaery said with a kind smile, pushing her cup towards him when he picked up the pot.

"Anyone else?" he offered. When they all shook their heads and thanked him, he sat back down.

"Who was that with him?" Catelyn asked, still looking occasionally at the door they'd left from.

Sam froze for a moment, unnoticeable to anyone that wasn't paying attention. Unfortunately for him, all of the Stark's were paying attention, save Rickon who was trying to scoot his chair closer to the table. "Oh, that would be Tormund. He's- um Jon's right hand, so to speak."

"They go everywhere together," Gilly piped in. "They're quite close."

"And pushing each other into rivers is normal here?" Sansa asked.

"It is for the two of them, I'm afraid," Sam said.

"Don't worry," Gilly added, "he's been nothing but kind to me. Tormund's scary at times, but he'd never do anything to hurt you. Or anyone unless they're threatening Jon, actually. Oof." She made a face of discomfort and put a hand on her distended belly. "Little Jon's not being kind today. Excuse me, m'lord. Milady."

"Little Jon?" Arya asked, the first thing she'd said at all during the meal.

Sam nodded, a proud little smile on his face. "She thinks it'll be a boy. She named her first son Sam after me, and so this one will be after Jon, for all he's done for us."

"I noticed that," Catelyn said. "Most maesters aren't allowed to marry, much less have children." And by 'most', she meant 'all'.

"Yes well. Jon does what he thinks is right."

"And he agreed that marrying me is what's right?" Sansa couldn't help but ask.

Sam shrugged at that. "I don't know everything he thinks."

* * *

Over the next week of wedding preparations and learning her way around, Sansa didn't see anything about Jon Snow that she hadn't seen at that first meeting. He was friendly with everyone at the Wall, he was especially friendly with his best mate Tormund, and he managed to avoid spending too much time in the room with her while making it seem like that wasn't what he was doing. When it came time to hammer out the last, specific details with Jon, he was forced to sit down in a room with Catelyn, Robb, Sansa, and no one else.

"We were thinking it could be a traditional ceremony, that way it doesn't take too long and the bulk of the celebration can be at the reception feast afterwards," Catelyn said.

"What sort of ceremony? Southern?"

"No," Robb said, "it's definitely Northern. Don't let the looks fool you, we're Northerners."

Jon blinked, like he was trying to parse out how best to say this. "Okay," he said slowly. "I think our's might be different from yours, so maybe you should take me through it step by step."

From Jon's expression as they explained, it was clear that their wedding ceremonies were different.

"After that we're planning on diverging," Catelyn said. "Tradition will only carry itself so far, and I don't plan on my daughter having to compromise her dignity for an antiquated and quite frankly horrible event."

"I don't know what you're referring to," Jon said, looking rather lost.

"Historically," Sansa told him, "a group of men would grab the bride and strip her down to her underthings while carrying her to the wedding room. After the marriage has been consummated, the groom would take the bloody sheet as proof and exchange it for her wedding gown."

Jon made a face that showed exactly how disturbing he found that. "We're not doing that either right?"

"No, we certainly are not," Sansa assured him. Her father had refused to do it with Catelyn, and her mother thought that was the single best thing he ever did for her.

Jon breathed out a sigh of relief. "Good."

They confirmed a few other things, the time, who exactly would be there for the ceremony, that sort of thing.

"I think we're done here?" Robb asked, looking to Jon for confirmation.

"Would I be able to speak alone with Lady Sansa for a moment?" When all of them looked surprised by that, he shrank back a little. "Is that not allowed?"

"It's allowed, and fine by me. Sansa?" She gave a nod of agreement. "Alright, Mother and I will be waiting for you outside."

Jon waited until the door was firmly closed for a few seconds before he turned to her. "I'm not expecting anything from you. On our wedding night, I mean."

"That's very kind of you, but I take no issue with it." No more so than the rest of this marriage, at least. "You're not exactly hideous, you know."

"So I've been told." Her reassurances didn't make him feel any better though. He took a deep breath. "I know it will happen eventually, I'm not denying that. I'm just not sure it's something I could do tomorrow night."

Sansa blinked. "Oh. Alright. We'll have to share the bed to sleep in, if nothing else, but we'll be sharing a bed for the time to come, so there's no harm in that."

"Right," Jon agreed uneasily. "No harm."

* * *

The ceremony went fine, it uncomfortable. Lord Snow didn't seem very happy to be there, and his wildling friend Tormund definitely didn't want to be there. He didn't make a fuss, or any noise really, but it was rather disheartening. Margaery was doing well and pretending that everything was okay because that was what she did. There was a little smile on her face that Sansa recognised as entirely fake, but everyone else was fooled-- if they were paying attention to her at all, that is.

By the exact letter, nothing went wrong. The mood was ridiculously uncomfortable though, and Sansa was having a hard time ignoring it. Jon looked handsome, she guessed, so she told him that before the ceremony started. It didn't seem to help. In fact, it might have made it worse.

They had to hold hands as they entered the main hall, and Jon's hand was stiff and uncomfortable in her's. As soon as they sat in their seats, he let go. There was a tense moment where Tormund started chugging down wine but no one else felt they could .

"To the new couple," Robb toasted with a grin. "Lord and Lady Snow."

Everyone toasted to it-- with at least one notable exception on Jon's other side-- and the party started. After a few minutes, Tormund got up and went to one of the other tables, grabbing a pitcher of wine and drinking straight from it. Before Sansa turned to talk to Margaery to entertain herself, she saw that Jon went from looking at Tormund, to staring at the table and barely eating. He sipped occasionally on his wine, but he never refilled it.

It must have been hours later when Jon finally stood up, but he didn't turn to take Sansa to their room like she'd half-expected to happen. No one was paying too much attention to him since he was doing his best to avoid that, and he slunk out of the room.

"Do you see his friend Tormund anywhere?" Margaery asked pointedly, looking around.

Sansa looked as well. "No, do you?"

"No."

"Do you think I should go after him?"

"I think," she said carefully, "that there's something important he's keeping from you, and he's not going to volunteer what it is."

Sansa looked at the door for an indecisive moment, then she nodded and got to her feet. She wasn't as good at sneaking about as Arya, but she had learned a thing or two in her time around conniving nobles in the south. Voices had a tendency to echo in hallways, so she crept towards the sound until she could make out the words, and was hopefully still far enough away that she wouldn't get caught by them.

"Don't you think we should talk about this?" Jon was asking as she got into range.

"What's there you talk about? You got married."

Their voices got quiet and she shuffled closer. "-and when I asked, you said it was okay."

"No. You _told_ me you were doing it, and I said fine because there was nothing else I could do. You had already decided to do it."

"We need this Tormund! The Wall is severely undermanned, if the army of the dead attacks, we wouldn't be able to even slow them down." Army of the dead? What in the world was he talking about? "With Winterfell and the others at our back, we stand a chance of surviving all this."

"What the fuck does that have to do with getting married?"

"We needed to make an alliance."

"Then why'd you get married? Why didn't you just make a buggering alliance instead of chaining yourself to some cunt?"

"Don't call her a cunt, she hasn't done anything to you. And that's how it works," Jon said tiredly. "You make an alliance by getting married."

"Fuck out a few heirs to make sure it's fresh?"

"...Usually, yes, but I told her not to expect anything tonight."

"Right you'll just have your bloody wedding night tomorrow instead. Anyone kissed by fire's good enough for you. If she had a cock you wouldn't notice the difference."

"Tormund you know that's not it, you _know_ me," Jon said, voice pleading.

Neither of them said anything for a minute, and she wondered if Tormund had walked away and she was about to get caught. Sansa didn't fancy her chances if either of them saw her this close to them while they were having a private conversation. She was starting to get nervous when they spoke again.

"Stay with me tonight," Tormund said, his voice low and gruff. _Oh_ , she thought as all of it clicked in her head, _they're together_. No wonder Tormund was so miserable right now.

"I can't. You know I can't."

"Jon... please."

Sansa left. By the gods, she shouldn't have stayed as long as she had. What was she going to do? Back when she hadn't known what was going on there, it would have been fine to continue on with their marriage like she had been planning. But now... she needed Margaery's advice. She was careful even as she hurried back to the hall, and it was difficult to keep her steps even when she rejoined the party.

"What did you find out?" Margaery asked when Sansa retook her seat, seeing that she had something to say.

"Jon and Tormund? They're-" Sansa took a quick glance around to make sure someone hadn't walked up to them in the last five seconds "-together. Sharing a bed kind of together."

Margaery blinked. "Oh my. That puts you in quite the awkward position, doesn't it?"

"Yes, which is why I need your help! What do I do?"

"What can you do? Lords have had lovers on the side for as long as there have been lords. Let Lord Snow know that it's okay with you, and you'll be fine."

"I don't think he plans on stepping out is the problem," Sansa hissed.

"He what? That's rather unlikely."

"Marg, I'm telling you, Lord Snow is all honour-bound by this marriage. He's not going to do anything he thinks might tarnish my reputation."

Margaery's eyes narrowed as she thought. "Even the playing field," she said after a minute.

"What?"

"If you have a lover, he won't feel like he's betraying you."

"But I _don't_ have a lover. And if I did, I'd have to stop until we had a few children of our own."

"Unless you were with someone that couldn't have children, same as he's doing." Margaery gave Sansa a significant look.

She knew that it meant something, but she couldn't quite parse out what it meant. "I should... be with a woman?" She wasn't against the idea, but again: where would she find someone to agree to this?

"If Lord Snow is with his best friend, it would make sense to him if you were with yours, yes?"

"Margaery are you- are you really offering this?"

"I find you quite wonderful company, and I know you feel the same. What's a little lying about sex between girl friends?"

Sansa's eyes darted towards the doors, as if she was looking at Jon and Tormund together. "The same as the real thing is between two boy friends, I'd assume," she said, ignoring the sinking of her heart. For a moment, she'd thought that Margaery had actually been offering. 

"You assume correctly." Margaery licked her lips and covered the motion by sipping from her cup. "I imagine you could talk Lord Snow out of the wedding night if you-"

"He already told me he has no intention of touching me tonight."

"All the better. Stay with him in the marriage bed until the rest of the castle falls silent, then join me in my room and suggest that he do the same with his Tormund."

"Have I mentioned that I love you?"

"Not in recent memory," she said, lips quirking up.

"I do. You are absolutely magnificent, and you saved me from becoming the center of Tormund's hatred. I rather think he would have killed me if Lord Snow would have let him."

"Don't exaggerate. He might hate you a bit yes, but that's just because you're marrying the object of his affections. I doubt he had any designs on ending your life over such a thing."

"People have been killed for far less."

"The common people, perhaps. It is... different for people of our station."

"If you say so."

"I do, and-" she said, elbowing Sansa in the side "-now's your chance. He looks like wet cat, he's so miserable."

Sansa giggled but tried to hide it. Unfortunately, it was quite true. Jon had re-entered the room, looking utterly despondent. "Seeking him out now would seem like a call for the bedding. I'll wait for him to come back to the table."

Margaery nodded, her eyes sharp as she tracked his movement through the room. He was almost back to the table when some of his friends grabbed him and he got sucked into a conversation. "Damn," she muttered. "So close. I suppose there's no harm in waiting until you are truly alone."

"I suppose," Sansa agreed, though she would have preferred to tell him as soon as possible. That desire intensified when Tormund walked back into the room, grabbed a wine jug, and started chugging. "Oh dear." Jon caught sight of him and started making his way over, probably to convince him to take it easy on the alcohol. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"It most certainly isn't."

They watched, from a distance, as Jon tried to convince Tormund to ease up on the wine. Tormund gave him a wide smile, too sharp to be real, said something they couldn't make out, and grabbed a cup. He filled it, drank it all in one go, then refilled it, all the while pointedly looking at Jon.

"Oh dear," Sansa said again.

"Who let men conduct themselves in public? That seems like a mistake."

"You're not joking," she said, getting to her feet.

"What are you doing?"

"Something that's probably stupid."

Margaery sighed, but she got to her feet and followed after her instead of trying to stop her. When they approached them, neither man noticed until suddenly they each had a woman on their arm. Sansa was holding Jon's, and Margaery was smiling serenely as she plastered herself to Tormund's side.

"I think perhaps the four of us should have a quick conversation," Sansa said around her smile. "In private."

"You don't need me," Tormund said, trying to grab back the wine jug. Jon automatically moved it out of range, and Tormund growled at him as he glared.

"Of course we need you," Margaery said. "This concerns all of us, and drinking more would only serve to hinder you later tonight." She said it with her usual suggestiveness, which only served to confuse Tormund enough that he allowed himself to be pulled out of the room.

Jon trailed after them, a deep frown on his face at the idea of Tormund spending the night with someone else.

"Don't worry," Sansa said to him in an undertone. "We're about to make your life so much easier."

"Where's the closest room we might use?" Margaery asked.

"Er, next right, two doors down on the left."

She nodded and followed his directions, gliding across the stone like it was a royal walkway. Sansa wondered how far the lie of their relationship would take them, if maybe she'd get to see how Margaery looked with her face flushed and completely unable to control herself.

Once they all shuffled in the room, Sansa made sure it was closed behind them. She didn't want any eavesdropping to happen like had led to her finding out about Jon and Tormund's relationship.

Margaery, gods bless her, took it upon herself to start it. "Tormund, you and I have something in common: we're both in love with our best friend, who just got married to someone else. Since we're all in the same situation, there's no need for Sansa and Lord Snow to be miserable tonight."

* * *

"Oh _gods_ ," Sansa said, throwing up a hand to cover her eyes. "Not for nothing, but couldn't you have at least barred the door first?"

"Don't you normally knock?" Jon asked, wiping off his mouth and leaning up a bit.

"Yes, but as it's the middle of the day and I needed to change to a dress that wasn't soaked through, I thought it would be safe to go to the room where I _keep all my clothes_."

Jon climbed off the bed, ignoring Tormund's scowl. "Keep your eyes covered. What do you need?"

"A dress. One of the blue ones if you please."

"If we had a tent," Tormund grumbled, "we'd never have this problem. People know better."

She heard some shuffling as he grabbed something from the wardrobe. A minute later it brushed against her free arm and she reached for it blindly. "Thanks." She turned back around and left, dropping her hand finally so she could close the door. "Make sure to bar it this time!"

There was a thump, and she sighed, relieved. It had been decided that she would stay with Margaery in her room, and Tormund would continue to stay in Jon's since that's what they'd been doing before Sansa showed up and temporarily ruined things for them, but she had to keep the majority of her clothes in Jon's room to keep up appearances. She walked over to Margaery's rooms-- the closest one to Jon's-- and hurried inside, stripping out of the wet dress with a shiver as quickly as she could.

As if in cosmic retribution for chastising Jon and Tormund for not barring the door, hers started to open. She cast about for something to cover herself with, but there was nothing in arm's reach so she simply flung her arm across her chest. She let out a breath when she saw it was just Margaery and dropped her arm.

"You didn't bar the door?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I didn't think about it."

"If we're not more careful, someone will catch us and we'll have bigger problems than what the men say you look like in bed."

Sansa snorted. "I think they would care more about what their lord is doing behind closed doors than what I'm doing behind mine."

"I've done a bit of research on that. As far as I can tell, Jon and Tormund's relationship is common knowledge. Perhaps when speaking to anyone south of us, we should pretend like you are trying nightly for a child instead of bearing the occasional tryst with your husband."

"You're thinking too much about this," Sansa said. "My family is back at Winterfell, and I sincerely doubt they will visit any time soon. Jon is free to suck his friend's cock, and I am free to spend my nights braiding your hair."

"Don't you think you'd enjoy yourself a bit more if we did something other than braid each other's hair?"

"Yes, but I don't see anyone in line to make me moan."

"I wasn't aware I needed to wait in line with a woman that shares my bed," Margaery said, raising an eyebrow.

"I- you-" Sansa spluttered "-what?"

"Sansa darling, I did not offer to be your lover out of the goodness of my heart. You're beautiful, and I would quite like to lick your cunt. I know you like me, and I am not unattractive, so I thought you would appreciate such desires."

Sansa was fairly certain that she had never blushed so hard in her entire life. Maybe it was the way Margaery said it, her tone in its normal airiness with words that were decidedly unladylike. Or maybe-- certainly-- it was the way Sansa had been dreaming about this for so long that she couldn't believe it was happening. "Erm, does this mean I don't have to get dressed now?" she ventured with a hopeful smile.

Margaery grinned, turning around to bar the door before walking over to Sansa and putting her hands on Sansa's naked waist, leaning in to kiss her.

Sansa leaned into her, breasts rubbing against the front of Margaery's dress.

"This would be easier if you took off your smallclothes."

"What about you? You're still fully dressed."

"Yes, but you're the one that's already half naked, it would be faster to get you completely naked than it would me," Margaery pointed out.

"Sure, but I want you naked too."

"I will be," Margaery said, tugging at the ties of Sansa's remaining clothes. "It's a matter of priority." She pushed it down, over Sansa's hips leaving her bare. She licked her lips, looking Sansa up and down. "And right now, the priority is me getting to touch you."

"I disa-- mmph." Sansa was forced to a stop when Margaery kissed her again, her tongue making Sansa dizzy as her hands roved over her body. She settled her palms on Sansa's arse, fingers kneading the flesh there and pulling her closer.

"Well," Margaery said breathlessly, only pulling back enough that she could talk, "relationships are all about compromise. So why don't you get in the bed and let me lick you to my satisfaction, and afterwards you can do whatever you want to me."

"Whatever I want?"

She nodded, and Sansa smiled, giving her a quick if messy kiss, then backing up to the bed.

"Can't pass that up."


End file.
